Linda Fairstein - Entombed

"Judge Tarnower? Alex Cooper, returning your call." I used my right hand to flip through yellow-back complaints to find the file on the phlebotomist's case.

"How've you been, Alex?"

"Fine, thanks."

"I'm calling to try to save you a bit of embarrassment. You and Battaglia."

That was about as likely as me signing up for a gynecological exam with Pierre Foster, the defendant in the case. "Always nice when someone's looking out for me, Judge. Whose toes did I step on?"

He chuckled, and we seemed to be vying to see whose voice sounded less sincere. "No damage done yet. Any publicity in the pipeline on your matter?"

"Pierre Foster won't be arraigned on the indictment until next week. I'm sure the district attorney will prepare a press release. It's likely there are other-"

"Who's Foster? That's not what I'm talking about. It's the fellow they're holding out at the airport. He's halfway home, Alex. Why can't you just let go?"

I turned my back on Ellen Gunsher. "May I ask, Your Honor, who got to you on this?"

"Got to me? That's a hell of a way to put it, young lady. Nobody got to me. We're talking about diplomatic immunity, the Vienna Convention. The ambassador and his family are immune from all criminal prosecution."

"Not if the State Department asks the Dahlakian government to waive immunity. Any publicity in the pipeline is what you want to know? If the DNA matches my case samples, as I expect it will, we're talking one of the biggest serial cases in the city in years."

"I have an assurance from the premier's office, Alex, that if the Maswana kid is the perp, he'll be taken care of by the authorities in his own country. It may even be a more appropriate kind of sentence, if you get my drift. Hell, I've never been to Dahlakia, but they may still believe in public castration in the town square."

What was this man thinking? "I'd rather have a life sentence without parole, Judge, and so would all of my witnesses. A long, miserable life upstate."

"You know how expensive it will be to mount a trial like this, and then pay for sixty years of prison time?"

"The way I figure, Judge, is that the mayor eliminated the long-time exemption for diplomatic parking plates last year, so the thousands of dollars the city gets in fines from the UN neighborhood and all the consulates around town can pay for Mr. Maswana's bologna sandwiches till he croaks."

Tarnower was silent. "Can you forward me to Battaglia?"

"Sure."

"And Alex? Foster-that guy you were talking about-he's the one at the Midtown Community Court, right? I wouldn't spend too much time on that press release. The Dumpster your cops took all their evidence from is MCC property. They should have thought to get a warrant. Your case against him might go right out the window."

The judge cut me off before I could forward his call to the district attorney. I hung up and sat down in my chair as Ellen approached me.

"Rumor has it you guys made a big score last night."

No point asking how she knew. Battaglia had undoubtedly told Pat McKinney about Maswana, who was incapable of keeping professional secrets from his main squeeze.

"Fingers crossed. As soon as the lab has a preliminary read on the DNA, we'll know," I said.

"I tried calling you at home around nine o'clock."

"There were no messages on my-"

"I hung up after three rings. Silly to bother you when you weren't available."

"About what?"

She smiled at me. "Gino Guidi. He's coming around a bit."

"How do you mean?"

"He'll be here any minute. I pushed his lawyer to give us more, just like you asked me to."

I returned Ellen's smile. "Nice work. Conditions?"

"You know there always are, Alex. Sort of a queen-for-a-day," she said, referring to a deal prosecutors often dangled before targets of criminal investigations. A onetime offer of the opportunity to come in and tell what they know, with the guarantee nothing they say can be used against them in the courtroom.

"What do you figure he's got to hide?"

"Kirby says only his morbid fear of publicity. He thinks if Guidi can point us in some useful direction, you won't need to involve him if you wind up with someone to charge in any of these crimes. I tried calling Chapman when I couldn't reach you."

"You won't get through to him, Ellen. He's withdrawn from all of us."

"Oh? Maybe I assumed something I shouldn't have. I thought Mike would have told you about this by now. He got right back to me early this morning."

I couldn't conceal my surprise. "Mike?"

"Yeah. I mean, I understand he took off for the week, but he reached out to Scotty Taren for me. I feel so badly for him," Ellen said. "We obviously want a detective in on this meeting, so Scotty's here in my office. And I reserved the conference room down the hall. All this okay with you?"

I was still stuck on the fact that Mike had returned Ellen Gunsher's messages but wouldn't respond to any of mine.

"Alex?"

"What?"

"You ready to have another go at Gino Guidi?"

"Sure. Did you say we're doing it in your office?"

"No. He and Roy Kirby are in the conference room."

"Give me a few minutes, okay?" I asked.

Ellen walked out and I dialed Mike's home number. I left a message on the machine, telling him that if it was too difficult to discuss personal things, I wanted to give him the good news about Maswana and get some direction in dealing with Guidi. Then I beeped him and tapped in my number, followed by 911 to tell him it was urgent.

"I'll be in a meeting with Ellen," I said to Laura. "Hold everything-except Mike or the boss."

The three men got to their feet when I entered the room. Guidi and Kirby were seated together on one side of the rectangular table, facing Ellen Gunsher and Scotty Taren. I took my place at the far end and let Kirby go through the usual spiel about how forthcoming his client really wanted to be but how little he had to contribute.

"Here's a list we've prepared of some other people who were in the SABA program at the same time as Mr. Guidi," Kirby said, passing each of us a photocopy. "Mind you, Ms. Cooper, these are nicknames. There are only two with complete surnames."

"They were guys I ran into later on. The others I never saw again."

"Did you keep a journal at that time?" I asked.

"Well, not exactly a-"

"He's struggled to remember what he can," Kirby said, interrupting his client when he realized I was going to ask for the original paperwork-apparently more than Kirby wanted me to see.

Scotty was taking notes. Guidi had something in writing that his lawyer was holding back and we would angle a way to get it.

"You want to flesh out something about these people for us?"

Guidi's answers were bland and fuzzy. I'd bet that the two SABA members identified specifically led lives cleaner than hounds-teeth by now or he wouldn't have put them forward. The ones who might be more useful-and potentially more embarrassing to him-remained obscure and would be impossible to find.

"Let's go back to Washington Square. The guy from your program who sat next to you on the park bench-Monty-that time he confessed to you that he killed a girl," I said. "You told us last week you didn't know he was referring to Aurora Tait then, is that right?"

"Absolutely. I had no reason to then."

"But when, exactly when, did that occur to you?"

"Oh, I don't know, Ms. Cooper. I hadn't thought about Aurora in years, until I read the story and saw those initials in the newspaper. The approximate time of her disappearance, the fact that the building where the skeleton was found was owned by the university-and frankly, it reminded me of Monty's story-another addict, another rich boy like me who'd screwed up his life."

"You mentioned he talked about boarding school in some of your sessions. Do you remember where? What school or even what part of the country?" I asked.